I finally did it. All the words spinning in my head, I wrote them down. There was a lot more I needed to do, but I took the necessary step to close in on my goal.

Sitting in the library, I tensed up awaiting Itra’s arrival. I watched the clock’s second hand tick further and further around the clock, and in what seemed like an eternity, I heard shuffling from the entrance beyond the shelves surrounding me.

From around the corner, Itra strode into our nearly private place, donning her red school uniform. I felt the light in the library glow just a little bit brighter. Soon, we will be reviewing.

“Good afternoon, Illate,” Itra greeted, “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” I replied, “I didn’t wait long at all.” Any time I had to wait was nullified once Itra arrived.

“That’s a relief,” Itra sighed, “then I guess we should just get straight to business.”

Settling herself in the seat in front of me, Itra placed her bag on the table.

“Hey, get your laptop ready,” Itra motioned her hand to me, “I want to see how far you got.”

Taking out my computer, I shared, “I think I did pretty well last night.”

“Did you? Then I can’t wait to see,” Itra responded, “If you’re proud, then you must have done well. Let me see.”

Turning my screen to Itra, I awaited her response. Her eyes followed down the screen, taking in my latest progression on our story. She didn’t gasp or make any sounds of approval, making me worry that I didn’t do as well as I thought.

After a while, she nodded. “This is a good milestone,” she smiled at me, “good work.”

I felt my spirits lift. My hard work paid off. I accomplished something. Finally, I had a proper draft to submit. Soon, we will be able to get the results from this writing contest.

“But,” Itra interrupted my thoughts, “I think we can get even further than this.”

“E-even more? I thought we were done,” I protested, “isn’t this enough?”

Stolen novel; please report.

“Is that all you’re aiming for?” Itra asked, “Don’t you want to put your story above the rest in this contest?”

“Er, well,” I put my protest down, “I guess you’re right…”

“Then let’s begin,” Itra returned my laptop to me, “let’s start from the top, the beginning.”

My laptop shone its display on me. Scrolling back to the top of the document, I reviewed what I put down. I couldn’t figure out where on the screen I should have been putting my attention.

“What’s wrong with the beginning?” I asked, preparing to modify it.

“Well…” Itra’s eyes drifted in thought, “I think it might be better if I taught you a trick to figure it out yourself, rather than just pointing it out like normal.”

“A trick?” I questioned. She had my attention.

“It’s something Mr. Hue told me,” Itra explained, “I think I should pass it on to you.”

I recalled Mr. Hue, the teacher Itra went to when she was feeling self-conscious about her teaching ability. I wondered what he told Itra.

“The trick is to read what you wrote out loud,” Itra revealed, “by doing that, you can get a good idea of what your writing sounds like.”

“R-read it out?” I recoiled, “That would be embarrassing…”

Itra tilted her head, “How? We both know what’s on it.”

“Well, I guess you’re right, but,” I protested, “I just…can’t…”

“...” Itra stared at me for an extended amount of time before saying, “Is it because I’m here?”

“Well, maybe,” I responded, “it just feels weird to read out loud.”

“If you’re just shy, you could always read it to yourself at home today,” Itra proposed, “but I urge you to do so either way.”

“Okay…” I submitted to my fate, “if you say so, then I’ll do it.”

Pushing out every word I wrote, I read my story out loud. It felt like pushing bricks from my chest through my mouth, I had a hard time getting through it. The worst parts were the words that just didn’t fit, those bricks were thicker than usual.

“You know what you have to do now, right?” Itra asked, “The parts that you don’t feel are right, you can probably do something about them.”

“You’re right…” I mumbled, troubled by the amount of paragraphs I knew I should start improving.

“I want you to keep in mind,” Itra added, “that you shouldn’t drift off-topic, or outside the view of your protagonist.”

“Right…” I registered her information while still staring at my computer screen.

“I’m not the writer, so I don’t think I can go any deeper than that,” Itra apologized, “will you be able to do this yourself?”

I took my view from my computer to Itra’s concerned eyes.

“You’ve done a lot already,” I said, “I’m thankful for that, I can do the rest on my own.”

I closed my laptop and stood, before I waved and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”